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attributes strictly as nature intended. Long blonde hair was never tinted or curled, but brushed vigorously, conditioned regularly and cut well. Moisturising creams, skin repair oils, toners, anti-wrinkle formulae and face masks were lavished on her face and neck, which were then left to fend for themselves without any further enhancement. Bodywise, Angela would look good in a hessian sack.
    No-one could have guessed that she had a very low opinion of herself. Which on the surface was odd, since despite her presentation she was not even close to the clichéd image of a blonde bimbo. Angela was far from stupid yet seemed not to realise just how much she had to offer.
    Inwardly, she was directionless, insecure and confused – not a happy combination for a twenty-one-year-old girl. Her looks came from a mother who had been a famed model of her day. Unfortunately, the older woman was incapable of discussing anything other than appearance, deportment andfinding a suitably rich husband. Angela got her brains from a father who worshipped beauty and success in that order. He was a stunningly successful stockbroker, had a beautiful wife and daughter and considered his husband and fatherly role fulfilled by providing luxuries. While this was enough for his wife it had not been for Angela, who never really knew him. For her he was more like a distant relative than her own father.
    When Angela said she wanted to go to university and study resource management, her mother thought it a good idea. As she put it, ‘You’ll meet tomorrow’s leaders there, darling. But why a science degree? You should be looking at politics or business management.’ Her father had grunted indulgently, written the cheque, bought her a car and paid a generous allowance every month.
    Now in her second year, Angela was no closer to knowing what to do with her life. The courses were interesting enough, although she was not particularly committed to any of them. She studied and achieved results because it was expected of her. Signing up for the field trip was a case of might as well get it over with. She had to do one, if not this year then next. Angela had the vague notion of becoming a game ranger, not because of any particular love for the African bush and its wildlife, or through any desire to protect the flora and fauna of her country, but because it seemed like a different, fun and perhaps glamorous thing to do. She acknowledged, however, that once her degree was obtained, who knew what might happen? Lifemight well take off in another direction altogether. Modelling, for example.
    Her mother went on and on about marriage. Angela always shied off the subject. She’d probably want children one day, but it was the getting pregnant bit she didn’t want. It seemed to her that, regardless of age, the male of the human species had but one objective in life. If only it could stop at friendship. But no. They always wanted to go further. And Angela knew where that led – to pain and fear while that horrible thing was happening to her. So much pain and fear. So much that it invaded dreams, leaving her shaking, sweating, crying out, as she forced herself awake, away from vivid recollections. Bad memories were supposed to fade. Angela’s didn’t. They grew inside her head like some monstrous worm feeding on her brain. The terrible rough thrusting and animal grunting. That rock-hard thing pounding into her body, tearing at soft flesh. Fetid breath, hot hands pawing, slack lips kissing, and all the while she was pleading, ‘No, please no.’ Then, after what seemed an eternity, the disgusting finale of shuddering hot lust, withdrawal of the thing now soft, sticky and covered with her blood. The odour of something alien. The final insult. ‘Did you like it?’ That horrible, despicable smile of satisfaction, as if he’d bestowed a precious gift. Days and days throwing up with fear and disgust. Months and years of